


Here Be Dragons

by gaysandcrime



Series: Dragon Tales [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Dragon Mycroft, Dragon Sherlock, Humor, John is a Prince, Johnlock - Freeform, Love, M/M, The Watson Family - Freeform, a bit of crack, pre-Mystrade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:31:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaysandcrime/pseuds/gaysandcrime
Summary: Sherlock is a dragon and John is a prince. Stuff happens.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by The Dragon Bride, a short story by Jenny Schwartz that I found on the internet.

**Dragon Tales: Part I**

 

"Something needs to be done about this dragon business." King Hamish of the Isle of London sat down at the dinner table next to his wife.

"Yes dear, quite right- Molly! Put that creature down and eat your supper!"

Young Princess Molly cuddled her cat Toby to her chest and shook her head. "But Mum!"

The Queen pointed a finger and huffed. "Don't 'but Mum' me, young lady! Get that filthy animal away from the dinner table this instant!"

"Toby's not filthy!" Molly exclaimed.

Princess Harry rolled her eyes and plopped unceremoniously down beside her father. "Honestly, Molls. You'd think you'd know better than to bring Toby to the dinner table by now."

Molly sniffed and gave the cat in her arms one last pet before placing him on the ground. Not that she had anything to pet but wrinkly balding skin, since Toby needed to be shaved regularly due to everyone in the family being allergic to cat hair.

The Queen frowned and turned to her eldest daughter, her finger pointing once again. "And you! What have I told you about proper attire?"

Harry rolled her eyes again and scooped some vegetables onto her fork. 

"Don't you roll your eyes at me! You're a Princess, not some kitchen boy, Harriet, and you should be wearing the dresses in your wardrobe!" The Queen turned to look at her husband. "Hamish! Tell Harriet I am right and that she should listen to me!"

The King jolted out of the daydream he'd gone into the moment his family had started to argue and cleared his throat. He glanced at his wife and then turned to his daughter. "Well, I...Harry, your mother does have a point." He shrugged lightly.

Harry scowled and pushed her peas around her plate. "But Dad! Girls clothes are stupid and besides, how am I supposed to help Greg explore if I'm worrying about my bloody skirts?"

The King blinked slowly and turned back to his wife. "Well dear, Harry does have a point." He shrugged again and then completely tuned out of the conversation. 

The Queen's inevitable reply was interrupted by the arrival of her second son, Prince John. "Ah, there you are, darling." She waited for him to take the seat beside her before turning back to argue with Harry over her inappropriate attire.

John glanced at Harry and rolled his eyes, before turning to address his father. "Dad, I was in the village today, and honestly, we need to something about the dragon. It's completely ruined our trade cycle."

King Hamish nodded absentmindedly, not paying any attention to John's words, so caught up in his day-dream was he. John sighed and began to eat, letting his Mother and Harry's furious words wash over him. The argument was familiar and old, taking place at least once every fortnight, and he was just glad that his mother wasn't calling on him to pick a side.

"Molly, eat your vegetables or there will be no pudding for you! John darling, have you seen your sister anywhere? I don't know why she insists on being late, honestly, I don't, but it's becoming most irritating!"

Just then, the slender form of John's third sister Anthea entered the dining hall, her nose stuck in a book. She didn't look where she was going, not even a peek, and John couldn't help but feel impressed when she managed to navigate the room and find her way to her seat with no trouble whatsoever. She didn't even bother looking up from the page when she lifted her fork to her mouth.

"There you are, Anthea! So glad you could join us, I haven't seen you all day." The Queen smiled at her daughter (or more accurately, the book her daughter was holding which blocked her face) and took a sip from her goblet.

"It's about time." Harry snarked and leaned over the table to flick the cover of her sister's book. Anthea paused in the middle of turning the page and slowly lowered the book to look at her older sister, one eyebrow raised. Harry just smiled innocently and spooned some soup into her mouth.

"Yes, well, your sister studies very hard, Harriet. Although I do wish you'd leave your books alone and take more time to learn the proper things, Anthea darling." 

John snorted quietly and took a bite of his own meal. As if! His sisters were wonderful, and he loved them dearly, but they were anything but proper.

"Well, I happen to believe that learning is very important and quite proper." Anthea turned to look at the Queen and smiled slightly. "After all, Mother, don't you think that a Princess should know as much as she can so that one day she might eventually lead her people to the best of her abilities? And besides," she turned another page. "No Prince wants a stupid girl anymore. Intelligence is the new proper." She raised her book and proceeded to ignore everyone once again.

John had to cover up a laugh with some rather boisterous coughing, and quickly turned to the King, who was still off in La La Land. "Dad! So!" He cleared his throat and surreptitiously poked his father in the ribs, jolting the King out of his daydream rather abruptly. "As I was saying, the dragon situation must be dealt with. Obviously, it's Greg's job to negotiate terms and come to an agreement, but...well, since he's off cavorting with wildlife and danger, I was wondering what you think I should do about it."

The King stroked his small beard and frowned. "You know, son? I haven't the foggiest idea. Maybe you should ask the Hermit. Or I know! Dragons like shiny things, right? Maybe you could polish Toby right after Shaving Day and trade him!"

Molly protested immediately with a loud, "No, not Toby!" and Harry and Anthea glanced at each other quickly before bursting into giggles. The Queen looked at her husband consideringly like she was actually giving the idea some degree of thought, and the King grinned back at her proudly. When Molly began to cry quietly, John closed his eyes and let out a pained sigh.

How is this my life? he thought, rubbing at his temples to try and stop the headache he could feel coming on. Honestly, how the heck am I supposed to bargain with a dragon?

#

"Listen, dragon," began John. His hands were on his hips, his right toe tapping. "This can't go on."

The dark purple Northern Dragon, bigger than a house and with a row of spear point spikes along his spine, looked bemused -as well he might. John often had that effect on people. Who else would open parley with a dragon by chiding him like a naughty puppy?

The dragon opened his mouth and sent a stream of flame to incinerate a nearby pine tree which flared like a torch before falling into powdery ash in the intensity of the maintained flame. The dragon blinked in a satisfied manner, then glanced sideways to see how John had taken the demonstration of power.

He brushed ash off his royal blue double-breasted jacket and frowned. "That was very thoughtless. This is a new jacket." He reached up to straighten his crown and frowned harder. John pulled it off of his head and looked at it. "And I just had this polished, too." He sighed.

An odd rusty sound emerged from the dragon.

John tilted his crownless head, listening to the crr-crr-crr, then stared directly into the dragon's green eyes. "You're laughing at me," he accused.

"Yes." The dragon curled its tail comfortably around its body and settled in for the parley. "You have courage, prince, but not a great deal of common sense."

"Rubbish," said John robustly. He gave up on his ash ruined jacket and dirty crown, and sat down on a chunk of rock. "I'm the practical one of the family."

"Heaven help London if that's true." The tip of the dragon's tail twitched like a cat's.

"Humph." John snorted, but when he thought of his scatterbrained mum, his romantically minded sisters Harriet (Harry), Anthea and Molly, his adventure crazy and currently lost brother Greg, not to mention his daft but lovable dad...the dragon had a point.

No one had expected his dad to become king. He'd been a younger son and the whole family was content to exist in a crumbling drafty castle, interfering in village affairs and pursuing their odd hobbies. But the unexpected death of both the king and his son -their uncle and cousin- in a coaching accident had propelled the charming but impractical family willy-nilly into court life.

The royal steward -who had known John's dad when he was a boy- had retired on the spot. The remaining members of the royal household went around looking confused, but lately, John had seen signs that they were being seduced into the madness of his family.

Just the other day he had seen the Sewing Mistress making a vest for his younger sister Molly's bald pet cat. Toby the cat had been their uncle's last gift to the family - and he hadn't considered the fact that nearly everyone in the Watson family was allergic to cat hair. Hence the reason Toby was bald; John's dad had set out the rule that Toby would be shaved every fortnight, or Molly would have to get rid of him. They had declared that day 'Shaving Day', and Harry had even made a little banner to put up. 

"Err-hmm." The Northern Dragon cleared his throat with a rumble like thunder.

"Oh, sorry." John often grew distracted when he thought of his family. Really it was Greg's responsibility to parley with the dragon, but Greg was off discovering the Faraway Islands and currently out of contact somewhere on the uncharted seas. Stupid adventure hungry older brothers.

"You said you had a proposition for me," prompted the dragon.

"I do." John smoothed his ash specked jacket, rubbing the ash deeper into the blue fabric. "The Isle really can't afford to have its silver trade closed. Your hijacking of the English Mountains, and particularly, of Port Baker, is causing Dad's hair to fall out."

"Tsk," mocked the dragon.

"Of course, no one is starving -and I am grateful that you haven't eaten anyone- but we are all missing the silver trade. Without it we don't have the money to buy other goods, import goods, important things like tea and jam."

"Ah." Now the dragon understood. "Am I talking with a tea addict?"

"Yes," said John grumpily.

"And without the money brought in by the silver trade, the tea merchants are taking their goods elsewhere."

"Yes." A snarl.

"So, it's not altruism that brings you here, but addiction."

"No! I can live without tea, _and jam_ , if I have to, but the loss of the silver trade has thrown thousands of people out of work -miners, traders, silversmiths- and that's flowed on to depress other sectors of the economy."

"You sound like a political adviser," said the dragon. He sounded bored and annoyed. "You sound like my brother."

"Well," conceded John. "That is what Dad's royal advisers are saying, but it is common sense. England has always been a happy country and we can't just sit around and let you ruin it."

The Northern Dragon huffed, sending the heap of white ash spiraling into the air. "Don't ever join the Diplomatic Corps. I don't think the Isle can cope with a dragon and a war. Cut the cackle and tell me your proposition."

"Well, the way I see it, you're not guarding the English Mountains because you need silver -everyone knows it's gold dragons love- so you must be hijacking our silver trade so that we have to ransom it from you. The question then is what do we have that a dragon could want. It can't be gold since it's untarnished silver that London is famous for. Clearly, you don't eat people or livestock."

"I make do with fishing," interjected the dragon. "A giant squid is a splendid meal; tentacles like spaghetti. Also honey. I am particularly fond of honey."

John shuddered at the thought of spaghetti a la squid but plowed onward. "So, that leaves only a princess."

"A princess," repeated the dragon thoughtfully. "One of your sisters? The eldest, Harriet, perhaps?"

John crossed his arms over his chest and glared. "No."

The dragon raised its eyebrows -or, the ridge above its eyes where its eyebrows would be if it had any- and snorted. "The middle one? I can never remember her name."

"Nope."

The dragon scoffed and gave John a look of disgust. "Well, I won't have that other one, the one with the cat. I don't do cats. Especially not  _bald_ ones." It shuddered delicately.

"Nope again." John grinned.

With a thoughtful look, the dragon tilted its head. "You?"

"Well, I'm certainly not letting you have one of my sisters. And Lord only knows where Greg is right now. So yes, me." John donned his dirty crown and bowed cheekily.

"Isn't family loyalty wonderful?" the dragon asked the world at large. "Just out of interest, why would I want a princess? Or in this case, a prince?"

"I did wonder about that," admitted John. "But it is traditional."

"Tradition is important," said the dragon solemnly.

"And a prince could keep your cave tidy, your scales polished, even cook your giant squid."

"So could a general servant, and probably better."

It was inarguable, so John abandoned the point. "Shifting from the general to the particular."

"Why don't we?" agreed the dragon with a lurking amusement that enraged John.

His voice sharpened. "I speak three languages, which you may find useful."

"I speak four. Five including Draconic."

"I sing and play the lute."

The dragon shuddered. "Next you'll tell me you're a mime artist, too."

"Certainly not." But John was fair. He relented. "Well, not everyone enjoys the lute."

"Really?"

He ignored the sarcasm. "Yes, really. And then there's my talent."

"Oh, yes?"

"I paint," he said defiantly.

"I can hire a house...ahem... _cave_ painter."

John felt like stomping his foot. He didn't, though. He wanted to be the more mature one, here. He shifted slightly on his feet, accidently kicking ash up into the air. He sneezed.

"Gesundheit," said the dragon.

"Thanks," said John. He sneezed again. "I paint pictures, and I'm good. So good that sometimes people think my paintings are real."

The dragon yawned.

"Well, then," said John. "Why are you holding the silver trade to ransom? What do you want?"

"I thought you'd never ask," said the dragon. He sounded bored and pleased all at once, and it made John want to laugh. He didn't, because it was supposed to be a serious discussion, but still. He wanted to. He folded his arms and waited.

The Northern Dragon sighed. "I need a princess."

"Duh. What did I just say?"

The dragon held up a talon. "I need a princess-," here John interjected with "OR prince," and the dragon huffed in annoyance and shot a glare at him for interrupting. He continued, "-yes, thank you; OR prince, to marry me."

John sat back down quickly, bruising his bottom on the rock. "Marriage?" He considered the proposal in horrified consternation. "You have noticed that we're different species?"

"You're talking about sex," said the dragon.

"I'm talking common sense. Why do you want a princess bride, anyhow?"

The dragon coughed, and for the first time, looked embarrassed. He shuffled his huge feet. "It's my brother," he rumbled.

"Pardon?" He hadn't quite caught the words.

"It's my brother, all right," roared the dragon. "He wants to see me married."

"Oh." John covered his mouth with one hand, but he was too slow. A giggle slipped out.

"That's right, laugh," grumbled the Northern Dragon. "But if I don't get married, Mycroft will force me to marry Irene, my third cousin four times removed, and Irene's talons are always dirty."

"Couldn't you find a different dragon - dragoness?" asked John, smothering his giggles. "One with clean talons."

The dragon gave him a nasty look. "May I remind you that you want my help."

"Yes, yes," said John, waving a dismissive hand. "A dragoness?"

"Don't want one," mumbled the dragon.

"Why not?"

The dragon looked around awkwardly. "Not really my area."

"Oh." John paused in thought. Then, "Are you gay?"

The dragon snorted so hard that flames shot out of its nose and burnt the plants four feet away from them.

"Keep your scales on," said John. "I was just asking, you know, because you don't want a dragoness, so I thought maybe a dragon...and it's fine, you know."

The dragon scoffed and looked off to the side. "Of course I know."

John felt a little awkward. "Good. Yes, well. Okay then." He let out a breath and then furrowed his brows. He frowned. "Won't your brother object to a princess bride? Or prince. Whatever."

"He couldn't," said the dragon, exhibiting the triumph of a boy who thinks he's putting one over his older sibling. "Some of the most famous dragons have had princess brides." He radiated smugness.

"I've never heard of any."

"You're not a dragon."

"Fine," said John at this piece of rudeness. He kicked at the ground.

"Well?" said the dragon. He sounded impatient. "Will you marry me and save the kingdom?"

John scowled. "I don't even know where you live -I mean, when you're not holding our silver trade to ransom."

"You'll have to take me on trust," said the Northern Dragon.

John rolled his eyes. "Yeah, that's a _great_ idea."

"Come on, John," coaxed the Northern Dragon in a rumbling roar. "For your family, for your kingdom, will you marry me?"

He paused. "Oh, all right. I suppose I must, mustn't I." He sighed. It was better than having his mum try and set him up with Princess Mary from the next kingdom over, or, God forbid, Princess Sarah. He shuddered; yeah, he was definitely better off with the dragon, even if he was rather irritating. John sighed. Greg owed him for this, big time.

#

The wedding was a quiet affair; that is to say, an elopement.

"Dad might be dopey," said John. "But he'd lock me in a dungeon rather than let me marry a dragon."

"There's no need to be rude," said the dragon.

John gave him a scornful look. Since there was no time like the present, they sought out the Hermit of the Hill who was also a priest, and therefore, capable of marrying them. Although whether he would or not, John wasn't willing to wager.

"And you're not to threaten the Hermit," he told the dragon.

"Me?" The dragon sounded scandalized.

"Huh," snorted John. "And I can't keep calling you dragon. What's your name?"

"William."

He stopped walking to stare at the dragon. "Seriously? That doesn't sound very draconic."

"Only to ignorant ears," said the dragon. "Besides, my middle name is Sherlock; you can call me that."

John nodded and started walking. "Sherlock, hmmm. Yes, that's better." He turned suddenly to look at Sherlock. "Wait, we can't get married yet! I'm wearing a walking jacket and I'm covered in ash!"

"The Hermit won't mind."

He gave Sherlock a scandalized look but kept walking anyways. 

The path down the mountain circled to right, then the left and stopped abruptly at the Hermit's hut.

"Stamford, get out here," shouted the dragon.

"Is that any way to treat a holy man?" scolded John. He raised his hand to knock, when the door opened.

"Sherlock!" the Hermit sounded delighted. He brushed breadcrumbs off his chest. "And a guest. Don't tell me you've done it, Sherlock? You've found a bride?"

"A prince bride," Sherlock confirmed. "Prince John, in fact. John, close your mouth."

He closed it with a snap. How did the Northern Dragon, scourge of the mountains, know the Hermit? He made a mental vow to find out, later, and said, "I'm _not_ a bride."

Sherlock ignored him. "Will you marry us?" He asked the Hermit.

"Delighted. Delighted," said the Hermit. "No church, but then, Sherlock, I doubt you'd fit in anything less than a cathedral. Are you ready?" he asked John.

He nodded, thinking of Sherlock in one of the fashionable city cathedrals. The noble ladies would faint. So would the archbishop. He had to stifle a giggle at the image, and decided that their first order of business after settling into their -home? Cave? Den?- would be that exact thing.

"Very good," said the Hermit. And that was that. Within ten minutes, John found himself married to Sherlock the Northern Dragon. "And I hope you'll be very happy," said the Hermit.

"I hope so, too," said John doubtfully, but quite unable to snub the kindly man.

He waved to them as they departed.

"I'll have to tell my parents," said John as they climbed back up the mountain to Sherlock's cave.

"Of your sacrifice for the good of the kingdom?" inquired Sherlock.

"That I'm safe, but married, and that Dad can stop worrying about you," snapped John. He frowned. "I'm glad I won't have to deal with Mum trying to set me up anymore, but I don't think Mum'll like being a dragon's mother in law."

"I can be charming," said Sherlock in mock hurt tones. He smiled, evilly. "Besides, think of your new brother in law."

"Oh, goodness." John stumbled, and a talon caught and held his elbow. He gave an uncertain giggle. "A lot of people say their in-laws are total dragons, but mine really is."

"I certainly am." A dark shadow drifted over them and a deep voice boomed.

"Mycroft." Sherlock sounded resigned and annoyed, but not particularly worried. "We'll meet you at my lair."

"I hope you cleaned it for your bride. The last time I saw your treasure heap..."

"I'm _not_ his bride!" John huffed and placed one hand on his hip angrily, raising a finger to point chidingly at the dragon flying above them. "And besides, he didn't know I was coming," said John, vaguely moved to defend his husband although he shook her arm free of his talon. After all, he could hardly claim great tidiness himself. He brushed once more at his ash-ruined jacket. He thought about his last statement. "We didn't know _you_ were coming. We could have delayed the wedding."

"A nice thought," said John's brother-in-law. "But if I'd been fifteen minutes earlier, there'd have been no wedding."

"Why?"

"Can't this wait till we're at the lair?" suggested Sherlock.

"No," said his companions and he sighed dramatically.

"Fine," he stepped to the side of the path, bringing John with him, and giving his brother room to land.

He did so in a gentle swirl of dust that coated his opalescent, ice blue scales and set John coughing.

"My name is Mycroft," said the dragon grandly.

Coughing, John flapped his hand in a pleased-to-meet-you gesture.

Sherlock sighed. Smoke issued from his nostrils, adding to John's breathing problems. "Mycroft, this is John, Prince of the Isle. John, this is my meddlesome brother Mycroft."

"You know, Sherlock, if you don't want him to asphyxiate, you might want to stop smoldering at me. Besides, sulking is so unattractive."

John nodded vigorous agreement.

"I am not sulking." Sherlock inhaled and held his breath for a count of twenty. When he exhaled, the smoke had gone. "Why would I sulk? I won."

"Leaving me to explain the situation to Irene's parents, and the girl, herself."

"That seems fair to me," said Sherlock with silky politeness. "After all, you're the one who brought up the idea of an arranged marriage."

"For your own good."

John held a hand to his chest as his breathing steadied. "Why would an arranged marriage help Sherlock?"

"It would settle him down. He needs responsibility. At the moment, he's too childish, too immature. He needs to grow up and stop making impulsive, meddling decisions."

"Like with London's silver trade," said John, feeling suddenly sympathetic toward Mycroft. He could only imagine what having to deal with Sherlock was like; hell, he'd only been doing it for a few hours, and he was already irritated and fed up. Poor Mycroft.

The dragon inclined his head in graceful agreement. "Sherlock's trouble is he doesn't consider the consequences of his actions."

"I do, too." Sherlock stopped, then cleared his throat with a bass rumble.

John grinned. Family dynamics, you had to love them. And it seemed even dragons could be trapped into juvenile patterns. _'_ _Do too, do not, do too, do not'._

"Marrying Irene would have made him responsible for her actions, and Irene has a lot of problems."

"Bad-tempered, sex addiction and dirty," said Sherlock.

 _"Sherlock!"_ Mycroft sounded scandalized, and John held back a grin. "She's not that bad. She had a bad upbringing, but I'd not marry you to a harridan. I believe she can be saved."

"Mycroft, she ate a knight last month."

John shivered and pressed against Sherlock. He appreciated his outrage and disgust. Sherlock shifted so John rested in the crook of his elbow.

"I hadn't heard." Mycroft sounded thoughtful with second thoughts. "Was it a clean kill?"

"No."

"That's bad." Mycroft shivered his wings in the manner of a human shrugging off nastiness. "Still, you could have told me. There was no need to marry a human." He said the word human with a hint of distaste, like it was something dirty he'd found on the bottom of his talon.

"It puts an end to your matchmaking attempts."

"Yes, but...Sherlock, I know I taught you what happens to dragons who take a princess as their bride."

John protested at that. "Oi! Still not a princess! Or a bride!" He then thought about Mycroft's words and swallowed. He gripped one of Sherlock's talons and held it tightly. "Wait. What happens to dragons who marry princesses?"

"They become heroes."

John sniffed, offended. He released Sherlock's talon. "We princesses- er, _princes,_  aren't so bad. I call that rude."

Crr-crr-crr. both dragons laughed.

"Idiot," said Sherlock as he hiccoughed a final laugh. "The hero badge isn't for wedding a prince -although, with you, I'm sure I'll earn it. The hero tag is because our marriage is a sign I'm willing to interest myself in human affairs. That means magical and practical challenges of hero status."

"Oh. So that's why the Hermit approved of our marriage. Because now you'll have to protect the kingdom, and my people."

"And that's why I wanted to stop your marriage." Mycroft brought his large head close to John. "I'm sure you're a nice child, but I want to keep my brother safe. I don't want him hurt defending your kingdom."

"I understand," said John. "But, first of all, I'm not a child. Second of all," he laughed so hard he slid down and ended up sitting on the ground. Oh well, his outfit was ruined by ash anyways. What would a little dirt do?

The two dragons stared at him, baffled. He laughed harder at their faces.

"You see," Eventually John made a heroic effort to control his laughter. "The biggest threat to the kingdom isn't magical or dangerous or...or...anything. It's my family. Dad needs an adviser. My brother needs finding. My mom needs a friend. And my sisters need...God, who even knows. Help. Just yesterday they tried to capture a griffin and keep it as a pet. We're chaos."

He sent an amused look in Mycroft's direction. "You want Sherlock to have responsibility. If he takes on my family, he'll have it in spades."

"Interesting." Mycroft's eyes narrowed in concentration. "And it does shine a different light on things."

"I thought I'd fight sea monsters," said Sherlock. "I've been practicing with the giant squid."

John shuddered. "We have a navy for that sort of thing," he said firmly.

"And you, brother dear, have responsibilities," boomed Mycroft.

Sherlock sighed, but this time, without smoking. "Oh, very well. If you'll climb aboard, John, we'll fly down to the palace. I suppose I should meet my new responsibilities."

"Very good," said Mycroft. "I'll come with you. If the King needs advisement and the Queen needs a friend, I think I fit the picture. And after all, I have experience with troublesome children." He sent a significant look his brother's way, extended his large blue wings and flipped into the air.

"Sherlock." John walked around till he could frown at him face to face. Green eyes gleamed back at him. "You did this on purpose. You've set us all up." He crossed his arms, but he wasn't really annoyed, and it was more for show than for anything else.

"Yes." He grinned, showing large teeth. "Your father will find me an excellent strategist. Last winter, I was getting bored with life, and then I saw you shouting down an ogre and sending it away, club dragging. I knew you were the man for me."

"Because I shout loudly?"

"Because you have courage, and you're _interesting_." He fluffed out his wings and stretched, his purple scales shining in the sunlight. He glanced back down. "And John, about consummating our marriage."

"Hmm?" John answered warily. New dragon husbands seemed full of surprises. He'd have to stay on his toes. And Sherlock was looking entirely too pleased with himself for comfort.

"I'm a shapeshifter. Want a ride?" 


End file.
